What is this “normal” you talk about?

If one considers just some of the events of the past week or two: an attempted assassination of a former present who's campaigning to return to the office; the withdrawal of a current president from campaigning for a second term weeks before the party's nominating convention; a software glitch that created continuing havoc world wide; a state senator threatening civil war if the candidate he supports doesn't win the upcoming presidential election, then apologizing (without retraction?), one might wonder if this IS a new normal and, if not, would one know a new normal if one saw it. The preceding list in far from inclusive and intentionally leaves out environmental issues that are global in scope and grossly under-addressed. The preceding sentences would not have been written if there appeared to be a comparable number of positive events offsetting the negative list.

It appears to me that too many of US are permitting those with a "my way or the highway" perspective to have entirely too much influence and power. How we achieve an appropriate reset remains an open question. I had some concerns about how effective Kamala Harris might be as a candidate until I was reminded of how she questioned Brett Kavanaugh at his confirmation hearing. She might not have made him cry, but she did make him quite uncomfortable. I just hope the Democrats don’t do anything stupid or untoward to mess up the likelihood of the American electorate having an opportunity to display some good taste and common sense. I’d like to avoid a repeat of 1968 in Chicago and 2016 nation-wide.

Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith

by Mary Oliver

Every summer
I listen and look
under the sun's brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can't hear

anything, I can't see anything --
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green
stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats,

nor the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
And still,
every day,

the leafy fields
grow taller and thicker --
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk. 

And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --
I am deaf too
to the tick of the leaves, 

the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --
all of it
happening
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum. 

And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt

swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear? 

One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body
is sure to be there.

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